


This Winter's Night (With You)

by MissSunFlower94



Series: To Keep Me Warm [2]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Migration, Mostly Fluff, Winter, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:58:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4029343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSunFlower94/pseuds/MissSunFlower94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A couple migrations down the road and Bog is going to anything in his power to keep Marianne with him for the winter. A companion piece to Winter Song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“No.”

Well that wasn’t the best start to the conversation, but if the Bog King had backed down at every disagreement he had with Marianne they wouldn’t even be in a relationship. This was no time to start.

“Mari-”

“ _No_.”

Okay. More troubling. There was disagreements and bickering - which was common to the point of being near enjoyable - and there was  _arguments_  - which were rare and far more uncomfortable. He had been sincerely hoping for the former… but that wasn’t looking promising.

“Marianne,” he began again. At least this time she let him get the word in. Hesitant now, he tried to continue. “It’s just an idea.”

“Yes, and I’ve told you what I think about it,” Marianne said, crossing her arms. She sat cross-legged on the dining table - a habit, as it put her closer to eye-level with her lover when he sat - and was glaring at him stubbornly. 

“You haven’t said  _why_.”

That came out more pleading than Bog intended and he might have kicked himself. He didn’t want Marianne feeling guilty. He didn’t want her to agree out of guilt or, worse, pity. It was only that…

It was only that it was going to be her  _third_  migration and Bog had decided by the second one (a particularly bad winter that had kept Marianne away from him for nearly seven months) that it was quite possibly the worst thing he ever had to go through. He would suffer it, and suffer worse if he had to; he loved her more than enough for that by far. But Bog was a more proactive king than that. He’d suffer if he _had_  to, but if he didn’t have to, then by every god he was going to do everything in his power so that he -  _they_  - didn’t.

Marianne was studying his face, seemingly reading his thoughts because she smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile, mostly bitter, sardonic, and a little bit sad. “I don’t like migration any more than you,” she said. “But you can’t up and leave your entire kingdom because you miss me.”

He flushed. When she said it like  _that_ … “That’s not - I would only go for- it would only be a few weeks. I’d set up a system while I was away, strengthen defense-”

“ _No_ ,” Marianne said, tossing her hands up in exasperation. “You don’t know anything about how migrations work so trust me when I say it wouldn’t. work. We travel in a procession for a reason. It’s a long trip, it’s far and there’s not really a clear path. I’m not going to have your disappearing on my conscience okay.”

He opened his mouth to argue before it hit him that there was genuine concern under all of her exasperation. Bog frequently worried about Marianne, when she was flying about his forest on her own, although he did his best not to voice those worries to her - save the practical sentiment of ‘be careful’ - because he knew full well she could handle herself. She knew he was nothing to be trifled with either, but it didn’t stop her own concern for his safety and well being.

“And-” Bog’s voice dropped to a mumble, already knowing the response, “If I stayed the entire migration…”

“Bog.” He opened his mouth again and she shushed him - two long fingers resting on his lips. “It’s not worth it.”

He huffed, taking her wrist gently and lifting her hand away. “Ye say that now,” he grumbled.

Marianne rolled her eyes. “Look, I know it’s hard. It’s always going to be hard. I don’t want to go and yes, I hate being away from you.” She closed her eyes for a moment and said softer. “I  _hate_ it.”

“Then-”

Again she cut him off, almost laughing. “Great skies, Bog, you sound like my sister!”

He blinked, taken aback. “What.”

“She’s not letting me have it this year either. She’s talking about all the reasons I should  _stay behind_! She’s a fairy, she  _knows_  that’s not an option for us. But she keeps researching - is talking about making me cloaks out of winter-blooming plants and goodness knows what else. It’s absolutely ridiculous.”

The Bog King didn’t find this ridiculous at all and were the younger princess there he could have kissed her just for being on his side.

“Would it work?” He asked, before he could help himself.

“Would it- how should I know? It isn’t like we’ve tested it - and we’re not going to,” she added sharply, pointing at him accusingly.

Bog raised his hands. “What?”

“I saw that look, you’re considering it. You’re plotting something.”

“Plotting? Harsh words, tough girl.”

He didn’t tell her that she was right.

“You’re  _evil_  - you’ll get over it,” she retorted. He laughed and with a tug pulled her off the table and onto his lap. She made a delightful ‘ _oof_ ’ noise, but made no move to fly out of his grasp as he settled his long arms around her.

She was still a few seconds before settling herself, letting her head rest on his chest. They were quite fond of this position, a favorite when they were alone, both loving how neatly she fit in his arms, her head resting just beneath his chin. Absently he lifted a hand to stroke her soft hair and tried not to think about the fact that it was nearly september - that she would be leaving him in less than a month. 

He did think about it, and an almost sickening wave of panic and desperation came over him. He barely stopped himself from gripping Marianne tighter to him possessively. She couldn’t leave him this year. He couldn’t lose her again.

Marianne’s soft hum of contentment at his - still gentle - ministrations in her hair jolted him out of selfish thoughts. It  _was_  selfish to want to keep her, to hold her here in his forest when it was dangerous for her to be there. Selfish to desire her company above her safety.

Mentally cursing himself, Bog placed a light kiss to the top of his lover’s head as a silent apology to her for thoughts he’d never tell her.

She shifted a little. “Stop that,” she muttered.

“Stop what?” He asked, the tiniest bit panicked that he had accidentally voiced something he should not have.

“Being all… affectionate. It’s gross.”

Bog relaxed, and teasingly kissed her forehead again. “Really? Ye usually like my gross affection.”

She growled wordlessly under her breath. He smirked at the verbal tick she had picked up from spending enough time with him, and repeated the affection. She growled again.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Oh? What am I doin?”

She pulled away enough to glare up at him. “You are trying to seduce me.”

He snorted. “Am I?”

“You are. You’re being romantic and disgusting and reminding me of all the reasons I’m going to bloody miss you.”

Bog ignored the piercing pain those words - however lightly they were spoken - caused him. “Ah,” was all he said, dropping another kiss on her hair rather than saying anything more.

“I am immune to your wiles, Bog King, don’t think I’m not.”

“Of course ye are,” he agreed. 

Marianne grinned and, to his vast disappointment, got up. She caught the sour expression on his face and her smile grew. “I have to go. Dawn’s having me teach her a bit of sword-fighting, I don’t want to keep her waiting.” He cringed and she laughed aloud now. “She’s better than you’d think. She claims she wants to learn to defend herself but I know it’s because she’s trying to get to know me better like this. It’s… nice.” She shrugged.

“Just don’t let her take your head off,” he said dryly. “I’m quite fond of it.”

“Flirt.”

He rolled his eyes and stood, leaning down to kiss her before her departure and not thinking about how much he would miss her, how much he hated winter and fairies and bloody migrations. Not at all.

* * *

It was three weeks before the migration when Bog finished his project - his  _plotting_. That was the easy part.

The hard part was going to be telling Marianne.

His last attempt at any sort of migration negotiation hadn’t gotten them anywhere, and he could tell his refusal to just drop it and accept the situation frustrated her. He didn’t want to frustrate or burden her. He didn’t want her to agree just to shut him up.

But he knew she didn’t want to leave. He had to try.

It didn’t help that she had seemed high strung of late - preparations were likely beginning and it was keeping her busy and irritable. But more than that she had seemed uncharacteristically anxious when she came to his - their castle.  _Their_ , he considered it, for all that she still made an attempt to divide her time between what was still to be her kingdom and his.

“Are you- alright?” Bog asked, never happy to see her upset. If it was her ordinary agitation he would have skipped asking and requested sparring - but this didn’t seem ordinary. Perhaps today wasn’t the day to tell her what he’d done.

“Fine!” She said, fluttering up to kiss his cheek in greeting.

“How is the er- preparations going?” He asked, trying to say it casually and failing quite miserably.

“Oh. Fine,” Marianne said, quieter. The were silent for a moment and then both spoke at once.

“I wanted t-”

“There’s somethin-”

They blinked at each other, going silent. Then Bog spoke when he was sure Marianne would not. “Ah- I’m sorry- you can-”

“No, no!” Marianne said, waving her hands. “You can go ahead.”

Another stretch of silence. The last thing Bog wanted was for them to argue so close to her leaving, but… there was still a chance this would work. That she might like what he was surprising her with. He had to take it. 

“I- I wanted to- ah- show you something. I uh I made you.”

Marianne’s eyebrows rose, her eyes wide and her lips forming a small ‘o’ shape. “Oh,” she said at last. And then, “What is it?”

“Would you care to see?” He said dryly. She rolled her eyes but nodded. 

He had laid it out in their bedroom - what he would have done had he actually backed out of telling her that day, he didn’t know - a bundle of thick earthy cloth that nearly blended in with the dark and mossy bedding. 

She looked at it, cocking her head in confusion until he beckoned for her to pick one up.

They were clothing. Cloaks, yes, but regular clothing to either replace or go over what she always wore. They were rougher, heavier, thicker things. Pinecones and mountain moss and hellebore flowers - specifically the ones in shades of purple, he knew her preferences - fashioned into things that were long and capable fully covering any and all of her soft, vulnerable skin.

She stared, silent for far longer than he would have liked. He knew she understood what they were for, what they implied. Already Bog was berating himself, calling it a stupid stupid plan in his head. He had no idea if this would work, if this would keep her safe, if this was any reason to risk everything for her to stay with him. It was stupid, it was stupid it was so so stupid.

Marianne looked up at him, still wide-eyed, seeming to have trouble coming up with words. “You-  for me?”

Unable to stop himself, Bog cut in, near babbling an explanation. “I- I know you said your sister had talked about- and I um- I know you’re right and we can’t- can’t test to be sure-”

“Bog.”

“They- there are goblins who are less resilient to the cold- perhaps not so bad as fairies but I looked into how th-they prepare and behave- and if ye- I think it would work. I mean you couldn’t-”

“ _Bog_.”

“You couldn’t go outside for very long or very often an’ I don’- I don’t know what we would do about your wings. I don’t want to bind them unless y’ think it’s best- and I mean- this is just imp-implying you agree. I understand ye might not- I know it’s still a risk but- I uhm- I thought if I coul-”

“ _Bog_!”

He shut up.

Marianne watched him carefully, raising a delicate eyebrow until she was sufficiently convinced he wouldn’t speak again. She prodded at the thick clothing and didn’t look at him for a long time while he nervously wrung his hands. When she did look up her expression was unreadable. Bog swallowed hard.

“How long did it take you to make these?”

Okay. Not the comment he was expecting but not a refusal. “A weeks or so. I mean, it wasn’t- a lot… so if you don’t- it’s okay.”

Marianne shook her head, laughing softly. “No, that’s not what I meant. Do you think you could teach me how to make it - We’re going to need a few more.”

“It’s not- wait.” Bog blinked a few times. “Why would ye need…?”

She shuffled, looking at the floor and then up at him, about as nervous looking as he felt. “Dawn’s going to stay, too. And two of my father’s guard. That’s the deal, anyways.”

“The deal?” Bog said, after several seconds of simply gaping at her - unsure what to say or where to begin. Dawn was staying, too.  _Too_ , she’d said… meaning… “You mean you’re…?”

“The deal,” Marianne said. “Is that I will stay here,  _inside_ , with you for the first six weeks of winter - the guard and Dawn will be there too . If, by the end of the six weeks, I’m fine and showing all signs of remaining that way - they’ll leave and I’ll stay. Of course this also means that if this  _isn’t_ working I will go south.” She said the last part seriously, holding his eyes. He knew she was making sure he was aware that this wasn’t a promise, she could still go at any time, that her safety and health came first. He wished he could say she didn’t need her to remind him of that but his selfish thoughts remained - even if he was wise enough to never act upon them.

But none of that mattered then. She had planned this. She had made this deal - with her father no doubt - because she wanted to stay, couldn’t bear another year of this anymore than he could.

She studied his face for a moment and added, almost shyly. “That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

“You’re staying,” he breathed. Barely able to believe it.

She nodded, a smile beginning to bloom on her face. “I’m going to try. I don’t want- it might not work- but-”

He cut her off, propelling himself forward, pulling her into an embrace lifting her well off the floor. She laughed, breathless, as he buried his face in her shoulder. She’d be there, even if she couldn’t stay the entire winter, even if they learned that it wasn’t possible, at least for a while she would be with him.

Aware that he was crushing her against him, Bog quickly released her. She drifted softly to the ground again and beamed up at him. “Are you sure?” He asked, unable to help himself. “It’s- I’m sure it won’t be- pleasant for you.”

“I know.”

He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to keep you, I mean, I don’t want ye to feel trapped o-or feel like ye have to do this for me.”

Marianne reached up, stroking his cheek and jaw. “Bog,” she said firmly. “I want to do this. I’m doing this because I  _want_  to stay here, if I can. I- I know migrations are to keep us alive but I didn’t- I don’t  _feel_ alive when we’re- when it’s that long.” Her cheeks were getting steadily pinker as she spoke, her voice trailing into an embarrassed mumble. “Feels like I’m missing part of me.”

He chuckled despite the fact that his heart leapt at her words. “An’ you call me disgustingly romantic, ye bloody hypocrite,” he said fondly.

“I’ve obviously spent too much time with you.” She pulled him down to her.

“Fightin words,” he said, and kissed her. 

Conversation moved on to  _how fairs the kingdom_  and other such topics, talk of a later spar to ease out all the tension that had been in and between them the past few weeks, the atmosphere considerably lighter around both of them. Bog had a feeling winter was going to be a messy season all around this year - but she would be there. That was all he needed.


	2. Chapter 2

Seven weeks into winter, not long after Dawn and the guard had left, Marianne decided she hated winter.

She  _hated_  the way it stiffened up all her joints. She  _hated_ that it had felt like ages since she had gotten any fresh air. She  _hated_  that she hadn’t felt anything on her skin other than rough garments of moss and wood and coarse textured petals. She  _hated_  that the sun had taken a hiatus from the sky, and even had it not that she wouldn’t have gotten to enjoy its rays. She  _hated_ the looming knowledge that she would have to bind her wings soon if she wanted to keep them healthy for the remainder of the winter.

She never regretted her decision to stay. Not for an instant.

Marianne told Bog this often, aware that with her every shiver and ill tempered moment he was berating himself, silently calling himself a bloody selfish bastard or some such silliness, believing still that he had some how captured her, held her in this cold place against her will, that this hadn’t been her own choice.

But that didn’t mean she was exactly  _enjoying_ herself.

The first few weeks hadn’t been bad, actually. Migrations had instilled a belief in fairies that winter began all at once, immediately after they left, and Marianne was not excluded from some measure of this belief. The first weeks were the endings of autumn, the vibrant golds and reds of autumn foliage mellowing out into earthier browns before tumbling from tree tops. Marianne rarely got to watch leaves fall and was captured by the sight. Goblins would climb to the tops of trees and ride fallings leaves like sails to the forest floor like some kind of ride.

(Bog took her a couple times. It was perhaps less dangerous for the two of them - being winged as they were - but exhilarating all the same. Dawn thought it was weird that what was little more than a death drop was what they considered a  _romantic date_.)

But the chill set in slowly. She first felt it at night, of course. Nights which began sooner with each passing day - she knew the days shortened leading to the solstice but the southern palace didn’t seem to have it quite so dramatically. Under an unspoken agreement she didn’t go outside the castle at night (She was comforted to hear that, in the worst months of the season, Bog didn’t leave either; winter may not have been as hard on him as her, but it wasn’t necessarily easy).  Bog added more moss blankets to their chambers and Marianne was comfortable enough cocooned in them. They made mornings a difficulty though, with every instinct in her vehemently arguing to keep her in her warm shelter.

And it only got colder from there. The chill from the cold straying into the daytimes. Even direct sunlight didn’t do anything to heat the earth and the days that weren’t clouded over with thick gray fog were getting fewer and fewer. Marianne began to feel it settle into her, her joints stiffer and slower to react. The clothing he had made for her helped but not so much so that soon she was confined to the indoors at anytime of day. She was going stir-crazy but what could be done.

So it was that Marianne woke one morning, some seven weeks into winter. She groaned as she felt the cold settle into her bones and tried to wrap herself into a tighter ball to preserve any warmth, further disappointed to discover that Bog had already woken up. He sat at the edge of the bed, watching her carefully as she hauled herself into a sitting position.

“How are ye feeling?” It was his most common sentence. Marianne would have been little tired of it if it weren’t that he was so sincerely concerned every time.

“Fine,” she said through a yawn. She pointed at him and attempted a scowl. “Now get over here and make yourself useful.”

Bog smiled, and did as she requested, gathering her into his arms - mossy cocoon and all. He was warmer than she was, though she wasn’t entirely sure why that was - but she wasn’t going to complain. His large hangs rubbed up and down her back in a steady rhythm and Marianne sighed a little - cold or no cold, being held by him was always a pleasant experience. But even in that Marainne found some  _frustration_ ; it had been weeks since she had felt his touch on her skin, felt the delightful contrast of rough and smooth pressed against each other.

Upset with herself for making something as soothing as his embrace into something _else_  to complain about, Marianne reluctantly pulled away from him and stood. She stretched aching muscles and winced at soreness of the joints to her wings. 

“Bog?” She asked before she could stop.

“What?” 

She didn’t look at him. “After- later today… do you think you could- I mean, if you help me with… I think my wings nee- should be… you know…”

Even without looking she heard rustling and could picture Bog going stiff, staring at her. “Ye sure about that?”

“I’d rather do it now then find out too late that I should have,” she said.

“Fair point,” he said. He still sounded uncomfortable. “I’ll help tonight, if that works for ye.”

She muttered a thanks, and a silence stretched between them. When he spoke again his voice was quiet.

“I’m sorry.”

“What fo-  _oh_ ,” Marianne shook her head, turning to where he still sat on their bed. “Bog, I’m fine-”

“I know. You’re doin fine an’ I know you d-don’t regret staying here with me and I’m- I’m glad that you’re here.” He gave her one of those shy smiles that never failed to make her heart do flip-flops, before continuing, more serious. “But that doesn’t mean ye- that’re you’re happy.”

“I am happ-!”

“No, you’re not!” he cut her off. When she opened her mouth to argue it was his turn to shush her, his large hand resting over her lips. She glared and after a moment decided not to play nice.

An instant later, Bog released her with a yelp. “You licked me!”

“You were gagging me!” She returned. “Really, what did you expect?”

“Not for you to lick me!” He repeated, staring at her in complete bafflement and disgust. “Why would ye-”?”

Marianne had to laugh. “You obviously didn’t have siblings.”

He stared at her for second longer before rolling his eyes. “Marianne, I’m serious.” He waited until she dutifully sobered, catching the earnestness in his voice. “I- I want to help. If ye’d like.”

She had blinked a few times. It wasn’t as though she wasn’t accustom to the Bog King berating himself for making her unhappy. It wasn’t even the first time he had offered any type of assistance in making the winter any easier for her. However, typically that help was in terms of _physical_  comfort, seemingly having tied that to emotional comfort in his head. Not this time, apparently. And that was enough to get her curious.

“How?” She had asked at last.

He fidgeted a little, but overall looked happier than he had a moment ago. “I’ve been thinking- the solstice is soon- I know ye probably have some sort of party planned…”

“Please don’t tell me you plan to hold a ball,” she said in a horror that was only half-mocking.

“Gods no!” He said quickly, and she relaxed. “No, no. I just- I’m planning somethin… special for ye. That night.”

“What is it?”

He raised one leafy eyebrow, his smile more a smirk. “Surprise, tough girl.”

Curiosity turned into excitement and a little bit of dread at that smirk. Whatever Bog might have planned, she had a feeling it wouldn’t be small. Whatever else could be said about the king of the Goblins… he was extravagant.

Trying not to gulp, she gave him a wide, brave grin back. “Then, surprise me.”

* * *

Marianne sat picking at her pinecone sleeves, watching the fire, and waiting for The Bog King to get her with his intended… gift? She didn’t really know what to call it. She glared the fire, thinking that unless Bog could miraculously change the weather she didn’t know what he could possibly do to help.

Marianne cursed herself immediately for the uncharitable thought. Bog had known how unhappy she was and she did want to see what he was planning. The goblin king knew her mind, knew her loves and hates, the things that could make her happiest, and she trusted him. Whatever he had planned had been made with her, and only her, in his mind. She would love it for that alone. 

She rubbed the pine-cone armored sleeves absently. She wasn’t cold, but she wasn’t particularly warm either. The last week or so she had stayed in the deeper rooms of the castle, where there wasn’t  _any_  contact with the freezing air outside. Bog spent much of his time with her there, as did Griselda, and other goblins that Marianne had come to consider as much her subjects as her lover’s. Their company was appreciated as she did find she missed having Dawn around - another person to be in the same predicament as her.

“Marianne?” Bog’s voice woke her from her reverie and she felt her spirits lift simply at the sound of it. She stood and accepted his kiss of greeting. “Ye ready to go, love?”

Marianne blinked. “Go?”

He winced, his shoulders rattling with sudden nerves. She almost smiled.  _So much for a surprise_. “Ah- I’m- well the plan… I want to show ye somethin’.” He cleared his throat and added. “Outside.”

Marianne froze, equal parts elated and terrified. “Outside?  _Outside-_ outside? H-how- I mean how can we?”

“As long as we’re not gone too long, it’s safe.” Bog paused and coughed again. “Well that is, it’s safe for-for me- I’ve- uhm- I’ve done it in the past. I think you’ll be-of we bundle ye up enoug- I- if you’d rather no-”

“Bog,” she cut in, and waited until he looked at her rather than the floor. “I’d love to try.” Anything to get her out of there, anything to get some fresh air - freezing or no. She’d been right; he did know exactly what she’d been craving. Bog smiled and she felt herself grinning back before something else occurred her. “Wait.”

Bog’s own smiled dropped. “What?”

“I can’t - my wings, remember?” She cringed, having made to flex them on reflex only for them to press against their bindings.

Bog winced a bit, more sympathetically, but said. “That won’t be a problem. I’ve arranged… transportation.” 

Well that sounded dangerous…. 

… and so it was, as Bog took her toward the mouth of the cave (she was in three cloaks but she was certain only her proximity to him - one arm wrapped securely around her - was what was keeping her any semblance of warm) and she saw what had been laid out. 

An owl -  _AN OWL!_  - was perched on the ledge, and hooked to its talons was thick rope connecting to… yes, that was a  _carriage_  made of seed pods and the same amber and bog iron that made up his staff. Marianne almost laughed at the image, if she weren’t too busy gaping at it - it was so… _over the top_! So much like the royal carriage her father used, pulled by squirrels, for more formal events.

“How did you-?” she gestured to the owl, who still sat patiently waiting, as if it had nothing on earth better to do.

He shrugged, far too relaxed about it. “Owed my father a favor of some kind. Never got the whole story, myself.”

She decided that was a discussion for another day; when a creature that could eat you was willingly not… it was best not to question it.

“C’mon,” Bog motioned for her to take his hand, helping her into the contraption, before settling in beside her. It was surprisingly spacious, fitting both of them - his long legs and all - comfortably. He wrapped his arm around her again and she snuggled herself close, surprised at how little she minded the piercing cold for once - too excited to notice it. 

Bog made a noise that sounded like his shoulders rattling except that it came from his mouth, and with no more warning than that, the owl took flight. Marianne couldn’t keep in her shriek at the lurch when they dropped, the rope going taut, but they held steady.

It took a while before she got accustomed to the sensation of being flown somewhere rather than flying herself. There was more of a chance for her to actually see what was around her. She sat forward, her breath a visible cloud before her, as she observed the forest -  _their_  forest - for the first time in nearly a month. The first time since winter had truly settled upon it.

The air was crisp, and it smelt like how cold felt. Clear and sharp. The ground was covered in frost that glittered in the moonlight. Ice coated branches and hung from it like the beads of a chandelier. Marianne stared at the world around her, as foreign as the forest had been to her the first time she had ever entered it, made strange and magnificent. 

She could feel Bog’s eyes on her, gauging her reaction. She caught his eye and smiled. It wasn’t unlike their first exploration together; he wanted to show her the beauty in something she’d never experienced. He wanted to make her happy, make her feel at home with what was his. The sincerity in the action never ceased to catch her breath and stop her heart.

And it  _was_  beautiful. Cold and frozen, without any of it’s usual color and life, but reflecting light as it was, glittering and crystalline… she had never seen anything like it. It was something magical and wonderful and she couldn’t even mind that it was positively freezing, prickling at her face and making her breath come out short. She could understand the danger of being out here too long, but that almost made it more perfect to her - hadn’t she always loved danger?

 “Does it always look like this?” She breathed. “This time of year, I mean?”

“Often,” he replied, his voice low. Every sound was muffled, muted around them. “Sometimes it snows and it’s even more incredible.”

Marianne had difficulty imagining anything more incredible.

“This is amazing,” she murmured. “It’s a shame we can’t do this all the time.”

“It is,” he said, although he sounded preoccupied. She glanced at him sidelong. For all that this had made her happy - the goal - he didn’t appear particularly thrilled, himself. 

“Bog?” She asked.

Bog looked at her, startled. “What?”

“You okay?”

“Wha- yes. Ah- I’m fine. Jus’ I was thinking.”

“About…?” She prompted when he said nothing.

“It’s the solstice.” He looked ready to stop there, but continued “It should start to get better, winter I mean. An’ I know with you not bein’- happy… that’s good news.”

“Bog!” Marianne said quickly, a little upset that they were going to have this argument that night - with everything so perfect around them. “I am-!”

“I  _know_ you’re not unhappy staying with me,” he interrupted. “I know that, tough girl. But you’re not happy  _here_ , in winter - even with… things like this. And that- that’s okay.” Marianne opened her mouth to argue but he met her gaze and the unhappy look made her heart clench and the words got stuck in her throat. “I’m just- what I’m tryin’ to say is that I don’t mind if- after this- you decide… I mean this was a trial after all I didn’t expect- I mean this is  _more_  than I expected so if next y-year ye don’t- if you’d rather-”

Marianne was slowly grasping what he was trying to say over all his tripping and stumbling, and felt herself go still and wide-eyed. “Bog…” She began slowly, almost a warning. 

He cut her off, quickly finishing. “If you want to migrate again next year-!” They both stared at each other before he quietly added. “I’d understand, Marianne. I wouldn’t make ye stay.”

She stared at him, openly horrified by the suggestion. “ _Seriously_?” She finally choked out, somewhat incredulously.

Bog looked at her, as if he hadn’t expected this reaction. As if he had truly thought she would be fully agreeable to this. “What?”

“What do you mean  _make me_?” She asked, and it was almost a snarl. “You didn’t make me stay this time either - you know that! You can’t make me do anything!”

He winced. “I- know that. But it was still- if I hadn’t suggested it- and I only mean in the future-”

“You  _seriously_  think I’d rather migrate?” 

“Marianne-” he spluttered. “Ye can’t expect me to believe you’d want to do this again-”

“You seriously think that I would rather _migrate_?!” She repeated.

“You’re miserable here, lov-”

She cut him off again, shouting now. Anything to get it through his impossibly thick skull.

“ _Not as miserable as I was WITHOUT YOU_!”

Bog went still, his mouth having half formed his next argument now hung open, his blue eyes wide. Marianne’s irritation faded almost immediately at the honest shock on his face. She sighed, moving closer and cupping his cheek in her hand. He swallowed hard and leaned into it.

“Bog,” she said quietly. “Why did you think I wanted to stop migrating in the first place. I knew this wouldn’t be easy but all I could think about was the alternative. What if it was a bad winter? What if I was gone most of the year? How long would we be apart? Could I bear it again… I couldn’t. I can’t.”

“But-”

Marianne gave his cheek a pat that was more of a light slap. “ _I hate winter_ ,” she said flatly. He let out a breath that was a bit of a laugh. “I hate it. I’m cold and stir-crazy and everything is scratchy and dry. But if you think  _this_  is misery you have no idea…” she trailed off.  _You have no idea how much I missed you_.

He, thankfully, seemed to finish the sentence in his head. He mirrored her position, cupping her cheek in his exceptionally large hands, fingers stroking at her hair before he leaned in and kissed her, slow and sweet. His lips were warm and she hummed a little against them. 

She pulled back, just enough to smile at him. “This is what I chose,” she told him firmly. “You didn’t make me stay, you didn’t capture me or _seduce_ me,” she pecked his lips again playfully and he snorted softly. “I want to stay here.  _I_.  _am_.  _happy_. _here_.” 

She held his gaze for as long as it took for him to get the message. He exhaled gustily, a small, particularly foolish smile coming to his face.

She beamed back. “Got it?” She asked, poking his nose.

“Got it.”

“Good,” she said, snuggling closer again, tucking herself beneath his arm. “I could get used to this anyways.”

She heard his smile as he said. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

They settled into a comfortable silence as they continued the peaceful flight - ride - through the winter wonderland around them. Marianne watched the ice and the frost and the strangeness to the land she was so familiar with, and reflected on her own words. 

Winter was always going to be a hard season, she  decided. She might always hate it a bit - probably would. But she’d meant what she said; there was nowhere else she would rather be. She smiled to herself, letting her eyes wander back to the king beside her. 

She had his love to keep her warm. 

 


End file.
